


Forgotten not forgotten

by EtoileGarden



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, Panic Attacks, adam and his existential dread, adam pov, kind of at least, magicy magic, post trk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-20 13:59:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16557104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtoileGarden/pseuds/EtoileGarden
Summary: “This is your favourite mug,” he tells Adam, “you get pissy when I drink out of it.”Adam has no response to this. It’s a nice enough mug, he supposes.“Do you remember,” Ronan says, not quite calmly, “anything about - about uh - magic?”Adam does remember. He thinks that maybe he had forgotten about it until right now, but not in a disturbing way, just in a ‘hadn’t thought about that for a while way’. He nods.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys here is another unedited thing for you. it isn't finished but i decided i needed more motivation to finish it then just having it sitting in my docs so i'm posting it here to taunt y'all with it's wip-ness.

It's an early Saturday morning when Adam wakes up feeling oddly rested.  When he opens his eyes, he's immediately greeted with a remarkable view up the nose of a man who appears to be sprawled over him in a way that shouldn't be as comfortable as it was. 

 

His first thought is this; I am in love with this man.

 

His second and third thoughts are rather jammed together. They are; who the hell is this and where the hell am I????

 

These questions don’t really fit easily with the first thought, which really, only adds more questions. Adam has often woken up feeling uneasy, nauseous, worried, confused, even terrified, but he has never woken up not knowing where he was. That kind of thing wasn’t his game. He didn’t drink so he didn’t ever have to worry about being blackout drunk and forgetting how he got somewhere, or forgetting how he got with someone. He never drunk but he felt hungover right now. Or what he assumed hungover felt like. Disoriented. Suddenly headachy with the realisation of being awake. A bit sick feeling. In the wrong place. 

 

He didn’t drink. He doesn’t drink. He’s not hungover. This has to be something else even if he can’t think of any other reason he could be in a room he doesn’t recognise with a man he doesn’t recognise, with a feeling he doesn’t recognise. Also. He’s beginning to realise that he can feel far too much skin against his own skin. 

 

“Shit,” Adam whispers. It helps a little, so he repeats it, a little more vehemently; “ _ Shit. _ ” 

 

He freezes as the man mostly on top of him stirs, but, he only turns his face against Adam’s shoulder and keeps on sleeping. While it’s nice that he hasn’t woken up on top of Adam so far, Adam still had to find a way to escape from underneath him. Half of him wanted to just get out, find his clothes, and leave, but the rest of him wanted answers. Also clothes. Especially clothes. Because the man’s slight shifting had informed Adam that his thigh was pressed in between Adam’s thighs and other parts of anatomy were also pressed into similar parts of anatomy. 

 

He has to get out of the bed, get his clothes on, get his bearings, and then wake this stranger up. He doesn’t know what he’s going to even ask. He pushes the blankets down off of his shoulders, his chest, picks the man’s arm up, and slowly pushes it off of his torso. What is he going to say? Hey, did you kidnap me while I slept? The man grumbles as his arm drops onto the mattress, but he doesn’t open his eyes. In fact, he rubs his face against Adam’s shoulder again, and then rolls over, completely freeing Adam. Adam takes this opportunity to spring from the bed. Maybe he should just start simple. Ask who he was. Or. Ask what happened last night? But he’s so certain nothing happened last night. He went to bed last night. Right? There are clothes on the floor, jeans crumpled up with socks hanging out of them, shirts inside out. Underwear. None of it belongs to Adam. 

 

He stands frozen by the bed for a solid minute. A solid minute of his brain refusing to function, of his heart attempting to freak the fuck out. Then he decides, ‘fuck it’, and grabs the nearest clothes to him. Better he be wearing the stranger’s clothes than nothing at all. The t-shirt he pulls on smells comfortingly familiar, and Adam pauses to look at it because maybe it was his shirt? But the style is off, and the fabric feels expensive, it’s only the smell, something grassy overlying a deeper musk. He didn’t recognise the smell. Even if his nose told him he did. 

 

Maybe he’s actually beginning to really freak out now. A little. 

 

He’s always been good at compartmentalising. You have to when you grow up like Adam. Otherwise you can’t do anything. You have to be able to put things in a box for later (or never) so you could focus on more pressing issues. Such as putting your feet in the jeans and pulling them up your legs. Such as not tearing out of the room because it made him feel so fucking strange. He does all of this, but everything in their little boxes are starting to rattle. He can feel it in his lungs. Something is going to come loose. 

 

What had he done last night? 

 

What had he done last night? 

 

He had gone to bed. 

 

He knows that for sure. He had gone to bed in the trailer. No. Not the trailer. He didn’t live in the trailer anymore. He had gone to bed at St Agnes. No. No? St Agnes? He had never had a bed at St Agnes. He had gone to bed. He knows that for sure. He has no fucking idea where. Why does he not know where? Something has definitely gone loose now. He needs not to be standing at the foot of this strange bed, staring at this strange man, while hitting the beginnings of what feels like it might be a panic attack. None of his boxes have lids anymore. 

 

He fumbles with the door handle, hits his shoulder on the way out. His feet carry him to the bathroom because that’s where he wants to be but he doesn’t know where the bathroom is even as he opens the door to it on the first try. The face that looks back at him in the mirror looks dreadful. Definitely looks how he feels. His shoulder aches. He grips the counter in front of him. Stares at himself as if waiting for answers. Where did he go to bed last night? Where did he go to bed last night? His breath drags in roughly and his lung sting with it. What did he know? What did he know? What didn’t he know? 

 

He was Adam. He was Adam Parrish. He was Adam Parrish and he had gone to bed last night like normal. Was that all he knew? 

 

A sharp knock on the door startles him enough that his hands slip into the sink. A sink full of water. A sink full of water with the faucets running wildly. The flow to fast and quick to give the drain time to catch up. He hadn’t turned them on? Had he? He can see the stranger in the mirror, standing in the doorway behind him. 

 

“Adam?” The stranger says, which doesn’t make any sense. “What the fuck dude?” 

 

Adam does not know how to respond to that. He does not know why the sink is full of water. He does not know where he went to bed last night. He stares at the mirror - at the stranger in the mirror - his face still dreadful. 

 

“Hey,” The stranger says, stepping into the room, his voice going from morning rough to cautious and soft, “hey? What’s going on? Are you ok?” 

 

No. No. No. He is not ok. The sink is so full of water. It’s getting on the floor. The stranger is reaching around him, turning the taps off. The stranger is still very naked. Maybe Adam was wearing his clothes. The stranger is pulling away from the tap, but not from Adam. He’s wrapping his arms around Adam’s shoulders and Adam’s stomach could almost cry from relief but Adam himself is horrified. 

 

“Wait,” he bites out, pushes at the stranger’s arms, struggles a little even while the stranger is loosening his grip, “stop,” Adam says, “look I - I don’t know what we did last night but I’m not looking for a repeat.” 

 

This, more than Adam’s pushing, puts the stranger back a few steps. He and Adam both move, stepping away from each other. Adam, stepping sideways away from the wet counter and sink, the stranger stepping closer to the door. Adam feels trapped. 

 

“What?” The stranger asks, head cocked to one side, eyes bright, “Dude,” he says, “I’ve no fucking clue what you’re talking about. Did I do something you didn’t like?” 

 

Adam also has no clue. He knows he doesn’t like waking up in a stranger’s arms though. 

 

“Yes,” he says, maybe a bit more viciously than he meant to, but, it was deserved. He can’t even remember last night, his head hurts and hurts and hurts trying to, and this stranger here doesn’t look like he’s got the slightest headache. 

 

The man flinches back, as if Adam had shoved him, and then nods slowly. 

 

“Sorry,” he says, “I’m sorry. Will you tell me what it was?” 

 

Adam gapes. He can’t. He doesn’t. What is he supposed to say? He settles on his original question. “Who are you?” he asks, “Where the hell am I?” 

 

The man frowns at Adam, and then snorts, folding his arms tightly across his chest. “Very fucking funny,” he says, not sounding as if he thought it was funny, “you freaked me the fuck out, Adam.” 

 

“I’m not trying to be funny!” Adam retorts, definitely louder than he meant to. Those lidless boxes were really making themselves felt. “I’m very serious! Maybe you told me your name last night but I don’t remember it. I don’t remember anything about last night, so maybe you could get your head out of your ass and just tell me? I don’t do this kind of shit, I don’t know what ... protocol I’m meant to follow, so just - just make this easy on me, ok?” 

 

The man’s face has gone from a taut fake smile to a look of utter confusion, and then Adam thinks fear, and now it was almost blank. 

 

“You don’t know who I am?” The man asks. 

 

Adam’s lungs hurt. “No,” he says. 

 

“Do you know who you are?” the man asks then, as if he thinks the problem is with Adam and not with this whole situation. 

 

“Yes,” Adam spits, “I’m Adam Parrish. I don’t know who  _ you  _ are. I don’t know where I am. Come on.” 

 

He doesn’t know what he expects, but he knows it isn’t for the man to inhale harshly, to back out of the doorway, to disappear from view. He stands in the bathroom listening to the quickly receding footsteps. His lungs hurt. The tap is still dripping a bit. Adam tightens it, exhales slowly and then inhales deeply. Tries to shuffle the boxes back into order. He can only deal with one box at a time. Right now the box is ‘where is my bed?’ 

 

His bed is at his home. Right ok. Where was his home? Where was this home and a bed that he remembers going to sleep in last night? Why are his memories not matching up? Why does this stranger’s shirt smell so familiar? Why? Why? Why? His bed is at home. He was at home last night. Where is home. Home is. Home is where his bed is. God. Home is this shirt. No that’s not right. He doesn’t know where is home is. Maybe the stranger was right to think something was wrong with Adam as well as with this situation. He puts the lid on the bed box and opens the next one which is ‘get out of the bathroom and find out who the stranger is’. 

 

His feet lead him out of the bathroom and back down the hallway to the bedroom he’d come out of earlier. They try to take him in, but the door is closed, so Adam resists. He knocks. He wonders why the fuck he feels like his feet are a separate entity. We he feels so distant from his body. Maybe he’s been drugged. Or maybe this is normal. This does happen sometimes. Him not being him.  

 

“Come in,” the stranger grunts and Adam opens the door. 

 

He steps in as the stranger is tugging a shirt on, already wearing boxers and socks. Despite having been in this room for whoever knows how long last night and this morning, and standing in the middle of it earlier having a freak out, he hadn’t really looked at the room yet. It hadn’t felt necessary. None of it seemed surprising, although when Adam thought about it, it was a very surprising room. It was spacious yet cluttered. It was full of books but also muddy gumboots. There was a large bird cage, sitting open and empty by an ajar window. There were odd ornaments on the floor, on the desk covered in paper. The man speaks. 

 

“Adam,” he says. Adam doesn’t look at him. “Adam,” he says again, “please. Please. If this is a joke, or a - a prank of some kind. Please tell me now. I can’t - if this is - please.” 

 

Something about this twists oddly at Adam’s gut. Not just because he knows he isn’t joking and he thinks this man ought to know as well, but because part of him seems to think that this tone the man is wearing is wrong for him. Distraught. Hurt. Pleading. 

 

“It’s not a joke,” he says stiffly to the window. He can see so much green through it. Where is he? He lived in the city, didn’t he? He did. Why was he so uncertain about that? He lived just off campus. He knew that.  

 

The man exhales heavily, the bed creaks a little. “I’m Ronan,” he says, “Ronan Lynch. Does that - is that - do you know the name at least?” 

 

Adam does not know the name. He shakes his head. “Were we drinking last night?” He asks, “I don’t remember. I’m sorry if this is shitty for you. Obviously I must have been - I must have been in a different mind last night. I’m not trying to string you on. I just want answers and then I’ll go, alright?” 

 

The man - Ronan - makes such a choked noise that Adam whips his head around to look, half convinced that Ronan would be on the floor. Dying or something. He isn’t. He’s still sitting on the bed, staring at Adam as if he’s grown a second head. 

 

“You’ll go?” Ronan asks. 

 

“What the hell is going on?” Adam demands. 

 

“I need to call Gansey,” Ronan mutters, “you really don’t - you really don’t remember anything, do you? You don’t - “ 

 

“I don’t remember anything,” Adam agrees harshly, folds his arms around himself, “but look. If it’s upsetting you so much I can just go now.” 

 

Ronan makes the noise again. 

 

“Do you know Gansey?” Ronan asks, he sounds desperate. “Blue? Noah? Henry? What about Maura and Calla? Do you remember Persephone?” 

 

He sounds like he’s spouting out fairy tale names. He sounds not entirely sane. Maybe Adam isn’t entirely sane. He couldn’t even remember where he lives, after all. No. He would remember where he lived. He was fine. He was obviously just shocked. Just hungover maybe. Just something painful and confusing and aching. He moves towards the bedroom door. 

 

“No,” he tells Ronan, tries to soften his voice because even if Ronan is a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic, he did sound genuinely upset. “I’m sorry?” he tries, “I think I should go.” 

 

Ronan stands up with shocking swiftness, and Adam reacts immediately. His nerves scream at him, and he darts for the door immediately, slamming it shut behind him and letting his feet dictate where he was going. He wants to get out, and so his feet were taking him out. They take him down the hallway, through a small book shelf stuffed room, down a staircase. It takes him until he’s reached the last step to realise that he’s not being chased. This realisation doesn’t pause the adrenaline pumping through his veins though.

 

He pauses there to collect himself, and also to remember he isn’t wearing shoes and he doesn’t know how far he has to go to get home. Wherever home is. He hears footsteps above him and braces to run, but the footsteps stop again and Ronan speaks loudly enough for him to hear. 

 

“I’m not coming downstairs,” he calls. It sounds like he’s in the book filled room. “You’re fucking safe. Ok? Just - just don’t leave yet. Let me explain.” 

 

“Explain?” Adam calls back, “Explain? So you know what’s going on then? You’ve just been fucking with me, asking if I was sure I don’t know you? Where are my shoes?” 

 

“By the door,” Ronan replies. He sounds exhausted. “All of your shoes are by the front door. In the shoe rack. Except for your gumboots. They’re in the shed because Opal stole them.” 

 

Adam doesn’t own gumboots because he lives on pavement and doesn’t need gumboots. Opal does not ring a single bell. 

 

“Adam, please,” Ronan calls, “please just - I don’t know what’s going on but I think - I think I can guess part of it and I need you to stop and listen to me first.” 

 

What happened last night. Where did he go to bed. Where does he live. Where is he. He walks to the front door, again, his feet knowing how to get there. His scruffy green lace ups are there. So are his work boots. His shoulder bag is hanging on a hook above the rack. He doesn’t remember this bag but he knows it is his. The boxes are lidless again. He goes back to the staircase. 

 

“Come down,” he calls up it, “and explain.” 

 

Ronan appears at the top of the staircase. He’s still not wearing trousers, just his boxers. He walks down slowly, each step deliberate, hand on the rail. He looks like he’s trying very hard not to spook Adam, and Adam both appreciates and hates that. 

 

“Can we get coffee first?” Ronan asks when they’re on the same level, “I think coffee will help.” 

 

Adam considers this. His nods. Ronan nods. They walk to the kitchen. Ronan moves to the cupboards to grab the coffee pot, and Adam moves to the pantry to grab the beans. Once he’s put the beans down on the counter for Ronan, he pauses, caught in the sudden realisation that he had acted without thinking, without knowing. Something is wrong with him. He has to admit that now. Something is wrong with him. Something is wrong with him in a way that means his body knows things that he does not, remembers things that he does not. How long had he been here? Was it really Saturday? Has he been drugged for weeks? He sits down at the kitchen table and discards the last thought. Or, puts it in the unlikely pile. Ronan scares him, with his intensity, and his strangeness, and the suddenness of this all, but too large a part of him trusts Ronan. Stupid.

 

Ronan makes coffee. 

 

Adam sits at the table. 

 

They don’t speak. 

 

Ronan gives Adam a mug full of coffee. Milk. No sugar. Strong coffee. A large mug. He taps the side of the mug as Adam takes it by the handle. 

 

“This is your favourite mug,” he tells Adam, “you get pissy when I drink out of it.” 

 

Adam has no response to this. It’s a nice enough mug, he supposes. 

 

“Do you remember,” Ronan says, not quite calmly, “anything about - about uh - magic?” 

 

Adam does remember. He thinks that maybe he had forgotten about it until right now, but not in a disturbing way, just in a ‘hadn’t thought about that for a while way’. He nods. 

 

“I do tarot,” he says to his coffee, “I - I learned in high school. Is that the sort of magic you’re talking about?” 

 

Ronan shakes his head, and then nods. He clutches at his own coffee cup, takes a sip before speaking again. “Just tarot?” he asks, “Do you know about any other kinds of magic?” 

 

Adam frowns at him across the table. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to have been doing this morning but he’s pretty sure it wasn’t this. “I guess you’re talking about, like, witchcraft,” he says slowly, “I’m not an expert on magic shit. I just know some stuff. Why? Is this to do with magic?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Ronan says, “I mean. I expect so, but I don’t know. Do you remember who taught you magic?” 

 

Adam shakes his head, and then nods, and then shakes his head again. He frowns. Of course he does. He has a good memory. He doesn’t forget things like where he lives and who taught him things that shaped his life. Did tarot really shape his life? Something was so wrong. “She’s dead,” Adam says. He knows that bit. 

 

“Persephone,” Ronan says. He looks at Adam as if he’s waiting for an acknowledgment but Adam can’t give it. Ronan continues. “I’m gonna tell you a lot of shit and I need you to not freak out, ok?” 

 

“You just saying that makes me want to freak out,” Adam bites out, takes a quick swallow of his coffee. It’s too hot. Ronan must have burnt his tongue on his sip earlier.

 

“Please,” Ronan says. 

 

Adam nods. 

 

“You live here,” Ronan says, Adam starts a whole new box. “Or you do on your uni breaks, anyway. All your stuff is here. Do you know where you go to uni?” 

 

Adam frowns. Of course he does. 

 

“Yes,” he says. 

 

Ronan doesn’t ask for clarification. He just nods. Continues. “Ok,” he says, “ok. Cool. You remember your uni just not - ok. You live here because we’re together,” he says bluntly. 

 

Adam needs a bigger box. 

 

“Romantically?” Adam asks. Ronan nods. “As in,” Adam tries, “we’re boyfriends?” Ronan nods. Adam pushes his coffee away from himself and stands up. “Come on,” he says, “no. I don’t  _ know _ you.” His stomach hurts so fucking much. 

 

“Wait,” Ronan bites out, not really a bite. Not harsh enough for a bite. “Please. Please. Just wait. I have proof. Just - don’t just go.” 

 

Adam wants to just go. He sits back down, grabs the coffee again. Ronan stands up, hurries out of the kitchen, comes back barely ten seconds later, a large framed picture in hand. He puts it on the table, photo up, slides it over to Adam. The frame is a little dusty, like it’s been hanging in one spot for a long time. The photo is a couple. The photo is a couple sitting on a hay bale, kissing. The couple is Ronan and Adam. Or, an Adam look-a-like?

“There’s photos of us all over the house,” Ronan says, words stumbling over themselves in his haste, “Gansey and Blue and Henry are always taking photos and insisting we frame them. There’s photos on my phone. Videos. On yours too.” 

 

Adam looks younger than he knows he is in the photo he’s looking at. A year younger? Two years younger? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t look up at Ronan. 

 

“I don’t have a phone,” he says. 

 

“You do,” Ronan insists, “you do. It’s in the bedroom. I’ll go get it. I’ll be right back.” He moves to the door again, then looks back at Adam, “please don’t go.” 

 

Adam doesn’t reply. Ronan disappears. He flips the frame over, spots black sharpie writing on the back of the frame. A date. A year ago almost. A loopy collection of words that don’t make that much sense to Adam. ‘ _ Magician + Dreamer @ Barns. Love always. Gans _ ’ 

 

Ronan clatters back down the stairs. He hadn’t just grabbed ‘Adam’s’ phone. He has two phones in one hand, a bag tucked under his arm, a small velvet bag that Adam recognises as his in his other hand. He puts them all down on the table in front of Adam. 

 

“Here,” he says, “your tarot cards. Maybe you could ask them if I’m telling the truth. Your uni bag, all the assignments you’re doing over the break. Your phone, it’ll have my number, and photos, and all sorts of shit.” 

 

Adam reaches out for the phones, grabs the one on the left out of instinct. It feels right in his hand. There’s a fingerprint scanner lock. It lets him in. The phone background is Ronan’s face. A close up very similar to the one Adam had woken up to. The calendar app on the first page  has all of Adam’s classes. Times. Dates. Assignments due. Reminders to call people. To call Gansey. To call his therapist. To call Ronan. 

The pictures in the photo gallery are worse. There are so many pictures of Ronan. Every second picture is Ronan. More than every second picture. There’s Ronan close ups, Ronan cooking, Ronan and a small girl in costume, Ronan naked, Ronan very naked, Ronan with Adam, Ronan with Adam, Ronan with Adam, a dick he assumes is Ronan’s - it’s overwhelming. To say the least. He puts the phone down. He doesn’t even want to look at the rest. 

 

“We’re together?” He asks Ronan, is pleased to hear his voice isn’t as crumbled as his brain feels. 

 

“Yes,” Ronan says. 

 

“For how long?” Adam asks. 

 

“Nearly two years,” Ronan says, “our anniversary is next week.”

 

“So,” Adam says, “why don’t I know you? Why don’t I remember you? I accept that this is - all this appears that - that what you’re saying is true. The dates on the photos. My timetable on my phone. My feet knowing the layout of the house. But I don’t know. I can’t know. Why don’t I know?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Ronan says, Adam wants to burn something. “But,” Ronan continues, looking as if he knows very well that Adam wants to set the whole house on fire, “but I’m guessing it’s to do with - to do with the rebuilding we’ve been doing. On Cabeswater. But I don’t know. I think we - we should talk to the gang about it. And Cabeswater about it.” 

 

Adam knows Cabeswater. He knows Cabeswater. In the same way he had known about magic. It just surfaces back into his memories at the mention of it, not forgotten, just out of sight before. “Oh,” he says, “oh. I made a deal with it, didn’t I? Is this - no.” 

 

Ronan shakes his head, eyeing Adam up carefully, “I don’t know if it’s about the deal,” he says, then, “you remember Cabeswater? Does that mean you remember that we’re trying to rebuild it properly?” 

 

“Why would it need to be rebuilt?” Adam asks. 

 

Ronan frowns at him, then a look passes his face which Adam thinks is realisation. Or gas. 

 

“Oh,” he says, “oh shit. I think this is my fault.” 

 

“You think?” Adam asks, realises this sounds maybe a little harsh, pushes down on the harsh. “Why?” 

 

“Because,” Ronan grunts, “I might have accidentally used your memories in the rebuild.” 

  
  


-

  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

By the time that this ‘Gansey’ and his partner ‘Blue’ have arrived, Adam had accepted that Ronan is telling the truth. That Adam had truly somehow forgotten what sounded like half his fucking life. That it was probably Ronan’s fault because he hadn’t clarified enough, or he hadn’t been awake enough, or something stupid. Adam knows that he’s mad about this but also - he doesn’t even know exactly what he’s missing out on by losing these memories so he’s not sure how angry he is about it all. No. He does. He’s very angry. He’s very angry because he has no clue what to do about this because he doesn’t have the right memories to figure it out. He just has vague feelings and ideas and the - the scaffolding of his life to hold him up. Not useful. 

 

Ronan, though he had not said so, had obviously been hoping that seeing Gansey and Blue would magically revert Adam back to normal, and when that hadn’t happened, he had slammed the front door behind Gansey and stormed off to the kitchen leaving Adam with people who were apparently his best friends but were actually complete strangers. 

 

“We called my mum on the way here,” Blue is saying as she kicks off her platform gel shoes, “Maura. She’s a psychic and also focuses a lot on the mental and spiritual health of people, so we thought that would be useful.” 

 

Adam nods. Ronan had said something about Blue’s family being a coven of psychic witches or something. It certainly wasn’t surprising. 

 

“She suggested some various herbs and teas and also just waiting it out. See if you remember after a few hours, or a day. It could just be short term memory loss that comes right by itself.” 

 

“She also said that it might never come right because the ley line has its own force and is often unpredictable,” Gansey adds from the doorway. He hadn’t said more than a ‘hello’ until now, and Adam vaguely wishes he’d left it at that. 

 

Blue looks like she also wishes that. 

 

“That’s not helpful, Dick,” she snaps, then to Adam, “we’re going to get your memories back. Don’t worry.” 

 

“I’m not worried,” Adam says, because, there’s no point in showing weakness. 

 

Blue rolls her eyes, pats his shoulder, and then brushes past him. “Come on. Let’s go drag Ronan out of his sulk.”  She disappears down the hallway to the kitchen, and Adam watches her go, then turns to look at Gansey still in the doorway. 

 

“How likely is it that I won’t remember ever?” Adam asks Gansey flatly, “Did Maura say?” 

 

Gansey ducks his head. Stares at his own offensively ugly shoes. He shrugs one shoulder and then looks back up at Adam. “Fifty fifty,” he says quietly, “but she’s more… inclined to think we’ll figure it out.” 

 

Adam nods. It’s increasingly irritating, because, well, because he doesn’t fucking know these people but he still has this urge to open his mouth and say something revealing or emotional or stupid. He bites down on the fear on his tongue, and says; “We should go to the kitchen.” 

 

Gansey nods, but then reaches out, grips Adam’s shoulder. Adam does not like being grabbed. Adam’s stomach disagrees with Adam’s analysis of this fact. It, strangely, settles slightly at the contact. 

 

“Hey,” Gansey says, soft, earnest, “I know this is - I know you must be hating not knowing what’s going on, and not knowing how you’re supposed to feel, but let me tell you now. You can know that we’re going to do everything we can to help because we all love you, Adam.” 

 

Adam stares. This is not the kind of thing he had expected to come out of the mouth of this young politician looking man’s mouth. He nods. Gansey nods. He withdraws his hand from Adam’s shoulder, then offers it for a fistbump. Adam bumps it. Gansey nods again, looking pleased. They go the kitchen. 

 

-

 

Ronan is hunched up over by the kitchen sink, filling a kettle from the tap, shoulders sky high. Blue is standing at his hip, her hand on his back, the both of them talking in low voices. Blue looks over as Adam and Gansey come in, but Ronan keeps staring down at the kettle. 

 

“We’re going to do tea first,” Blue informs them, “it certainly won’t hurt or inhibit any memories returning, so we may as well try it as soon as possible.” 

 

“Did they have the right ingredients?” Gansey asks. He’s moving through the room to settle at the large wooden table as if by habit. He looks at home here. 

 

“Yes,” Ronan says. 

 

“Adam has everything we needed,” Blue says, looks from Gansey to Adam, “Adam,” she says, “have you tried doing a tarot reading?” 

 

“No,” Adam mumbles, leans against a cupboard door, folds his arms tightly around himself, “I don’t - I’m no sure I’ll be able to - to interpret when I don’t remember so much.” 

 

Blue frowns at him. Ronan continues to stare at the kettle. Surely the fucking kettle was full by now. 

 

“I don’t think it’d hurt to try, though,” Blue says, “worst case scenario is that the cards are confusing. Best case, you remember all your shit. Give it a go?” 

 

“We don’t have to be in the room,” Gansey offers, “you don’t need to feel under pressure.” 

 

“Though it might help if I stay with you,” Blue adds, “I - I’m good at focusing people’s psychic abilities. It could be useful.” 

 

This sounds familiar. Adam nods. The kettle starts screaming in Ronan’s hands. 

 

“Tea’s ready,” Ronan grunts. 

 

Gansey catches Adam’s expression, and explains, “It’s a dream kettle,” he says softly, “it brews whatever’s in the pot as you fill it.” 

 

Also familiar. Adam is so sick of nodding. He looks away instead. He needs to get his thoughts in some sort of order before he just… explodes, but he doesn’t know where to even start. He doesn’t need boxes for all his thoughts, he needs a complicated filing system. Or a vault where he could throw the key away. Maybe he could just leave and not deal with any of this. He remembered his uni friends. He remembered all the content of his courses and his assignments. He remembered his jobs. He could very easily just go back to that life, leave this part of his life behind like his mind already had. He could, he could if just the thought of this didn’t fill him with so much dread he could feel it coursing up from his stomach into his throat, choking him. 

 

He gags audibly, nearly retches, and the room turns to look at him in shock. Ronan finally speaks, addressing him directly. 

 

“You’ve not even tasted the tea yet,” he says. 

 

“Are you alright?” Gansey asks, he’s out of his seat, away from the table, hands outstretched to Adam. His worry and care is all too evident. It makes him feel sick. Or, he still feels sick from thinking about leaving and having to parse other people’s emotions were just adding onto that. 

 

“Yes,” Adam bites out, then shakes his head in an immediate contradiction, “no. I’m - I’ll be right back. Just - I’ll be back.” 

 

He turns swiftly, makes his way to the downstairs bathroom that he has no fucking clue where it is even as he locks the door behind him and slumps heavily over the sink, pressing his forehead against the mirror above it. His mouth is all salt and metallic, his stomach feels like it’s entirely made up of a lava whirlpool. 

 

This is so stupid. 

 

He can’t even put these fucking emotions into boxes or files or deep dark holes because he isn’t even sure how he’s feeling them because he has no proper context for it and it is driving him crazy. He doesn’t want to have to be feeling things about things he doesn’t know. 

 

The taps are running. There’s water on his pants. He does not remember turning the water on. He closes his eyes. There’s a knock on the door. Gansey? With all his emotions right there on his face? 

 

“Parrish,” Ronan bites out, “if you’re trying to drown yourself can you not do it in that bathroom? We haven’t finished sealing the floor boards in there.” 

 

Adam’s fingers are white knuckled on the rim of the sink, and he has to focus very hard on un-peeling them to reach for the taps. He grips the handle, turns it, turns it, turns it, turns it the other way because the water just comes out with even more force. Turns it. Turns it. He can’t turn the tap off. 

 

“Adam?” Ronan says through the door, “You’re not actually trying to drown yourself, right?” 

 

Adam opens the door. At least he can fucking do that. Ronan looks at him. Adam’s stomach ditches the nausea for pain instead. He steps aside, and Ronan steps inside, turns off the faucet. 

 

“What the hell, man?” Ronan asks, kicks a little at the water on the floor, “What’s going on?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Adam bites out, “you know I don’t know. Why the hell would you ask?” 

 

Ronan sighs. He grabs the hand towel, drops it on the floor, and starts sopping the water up, using his feet to shift the towel around. Apparently he had been serious about the floor. 

 

“Look,” Ronan says, his voice gritty but quieter than before, “I know this is fucking shitty. I wasn’t trying to make it shittier by asking that. I just meant. The water. Is that on purpose?” 

 

No. He shakes his head. He can’t even remember turning the taps on. Why would he have done this on purpose? 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, clears his throat, “so. So. If you’re not doing it on purpose then my guess is that it’s Cabeswater trying to reach out to you. Y’know how it’d do that. Be really shitty at you trying to get your attention and all.” 

 

Adam kind of vaguely remembered? Not entirely.  “What does that even mean?” he mumbles. 

 

“It means I think Blue’s right,” Ronan grunts, “you should do a reading. See what it’s trying to tell you. It might have answers that it can’t get through by flooding our floor.” 

 

The same way Adam’s feet know the way around the house, and his hands know where to find coffee, his body is trying to convince him to step forward to press himself against Ronan’s body. He hates this urge. He thinks he might actually throw up. He gags again, and Ronan doesn’t step away, rather, he steps forwards, his hands going to Adam’s arms.

 

“Are you going to throw up?” he asks, “Or are you just feeling crap?” 

 

How is Adam supposed to know? He shakes his head, hates that Ronan’s hands on him are already soothing his stomach like Gansey’s had earlier. This is so stupid. He knows how he reacts to touch, to closeness. Relief and comfort is not how he reacts. 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says when Adam doesn’t reply any further, “just breathe. When you’re feeling… ok… you should have some water before the tea. Maybe you should just inhale the tea instead of drinking it, save your stomach.” 

 

Adam nods. Ronan hasn’t let go of him. His thumbs are rubbing at Adam’s tense biceps. His face is too close. 

 

“Ronan -” Adam mumbles. Ronan moves in closer. Adam feels like his heart could leap right out of his chest and straight into Ronan’s. He feels like that’s what it wants. He hates this. 

 

“Yeah?” Ronan breathes. It’s too much. 

 

“Can you let go?” Adam says, “Please. Just. Give me a minute. You’re too close.” 

 

Ronan lets go immediately. His face complicated as he steps back, back until he’s in the doorway. 

 

“Want me to wait in the kitchen?” Ronan asks. 

 

No, Adam wants him to come back and wrap his arms around him and hold him so his body stops screaming at him that he’s being mean to it. He nods. Ronan goes. 

 

He doesn’t feel so nauseous anymore, the water on the floor is mostly mopped up in the hand towel. He reaches down to pick it up, to rub it over the remaining drops of water. He squeezes it out in the sink, wringing it until his fingers hurt, then he hangs it back on the rack to deal with later. He thinks maybe for his filing system he just needs to be looking at an inbox and a trash. In the inbox was the tarot reading he should do. That was the most pressing. Drink tea. Try and read cards. Hear the next step from Gansey and Blue and Ronan. Don’t panic. Into the trash could go the juxtaposition filled freak outs he kept having about his body and his mind not meshing. Also the nausea. Everything else could wait its turn. He could deal with the mess after the rush was over. Or something or other. 

 

He washes his hands just for the sake of it. The soap smells nice. That’s why. He dries his hands on his jeans because the towel, though not dripping wet, is not drying material currently. He goes back to the kitchen. There is a arocroc mug of tea sitting on the table. It smells like feet and blueberries. 

 

Blue is sitting on the counter by the bubbling coffee pot, fiddling with a tin which Adam  _ knows _ has raspberry and chocolate muffins in it. She meets his eyes as he comes in, and smiles. Gansey is back at the table. The tarot cards are by the tea. Ronan is not in the kitchen. 

 

“Where’s Ronan?” he asks the room. 

 

“Gone to find Opal,” Gansey tells him, “he doesn’t want her to just come bursting in while you’re trying to do a reading or something.” 

 

Adam doesn’t know who Opal is still. 

 

“Opal is from Ronan’s dreams,” Blue tells him from the counter, “she’s kind of a faun. She lives here with you two. Like a cross  between a child and a next door neighbour that just happens to be a mythical creature.” 

 

This doesn’t really help, quite honestly. 

 

He sits down at the table in front of the tea and the tarot cards. 

 

“How disgusting will this tea taste?” he asks. 

 

“Worse than you’re thinking,” Gansey offers. 

 

“I added honey,” Blue says, “but I’m also making you coffee to wash the taste out of your mouth.”

 

“Thanks,” Adam says. He drinks the tea all  in one go. It does taste worse than he was thinking. The honey is nice, but it does not mask the taste of the tea in the slightest. It does not make him feel like throwing up, which is a bonus. It does make him feel like reaching down his throat and pulling his lungs out though, which is just odd. 

 

“Wow,” Gansey says, “I’ve never seen anyone actually finish a whole cup.” 

 

“Shit,” Adam agrees. 

 

Blue passes the muffin tin over and he gets one out without even thinking, takes a large bite, almost chokes on the bite because it’s too big. 

 

“Coffee is almost done,” she tells him. 

 

He nods because his mouth is too full to say anything.  He takes the cards out of their small velvet bag. At least this is something his hands and brain can agree on knowing. He shuffles them aimlessly, because that’s what he feels like doing, and then he dumps half of them by the empty tea cup because he also feels like doing that, and then he starts laying the spread. Again, his hands are seemingly moving without his brain’s instructions, but this time Adam is at least ninety nine percent sure that was because of  _ tarot _ rather than memory loss. When he’s finished with the spread, he just stares at it. Blue pours him a coffee, comes to stand next to him, and passes the mug to him, pressing it in against his palms and leaning against him. It helps. He’s not sure if it helps because of the coffee, or because she’s apparently a focusing tool for magic, or because his body remembers that she’s his friend and apparently his body craves touch. 

 

“Is it making any sense?” Gansey asks. 

 

Adam takes a sip of the coffee, shakes his head, keeps looking. 

 

He can recognise the patterns. He can tell that the cards are very clearly telling him that there’s been a disruption in the patterns. That’s easy. He already knew that though. That wasn’t the answer to the question he had been asking. He wants to know what, not why. Blue is still leaning against him, but she’s also placed her hand in the middle of his back. He thinks it’s supposed to help, but, it can’t help if he’s already figured out all that the cards have to say and they’re just not saying anything new. 

 

“Maybe you asked the wrong thing?” Blue suggests. 

 

Adam takes another sip of the coffee. His mouth tastes disgusting. He shrugs. 

 

“I’ll try again then,” he says. 

 

He shuffles all the cards back into the deck. They’re unwieldy to shuffle, but it’s calming. He lays the spread while thinking, not what, or why, but how. The cards tell him that something is out of place. That his boxes are strewn about. That his filing system is broken. Nothing new. 

 

He pushes the cards back into a stack, he tries a different spread. The cards mock him for not knowing shit. He finishes his coffee. 

 

“I don’t think I can concentrate with you guys here,” he says to the table. “I’m going to go to my r- upstairs. Sorry.” He gathers the cards back up, snags another muffin, leaves Blue and Gansey at the table. His mouth  _ still _ tastes like feet. 

 

He goes to the bedroom because that’s where his feet take him, to the desk, because he recognises his own handwriting on the papers there. He tidies the papers up because he can’t tidy his own brain up, and puts the cards down on the cleared surface, then puts his head down next to them. This is so stupid. But so very him. It was  _ just _ like his luck to have gotten what sounds like to be a great relationship with friends who verbally and physically tell him they love him and then he just forgets it.   

 

He tries another spread. 

 

He tries again. 

 

He tries again. 

 

There is not a knock on the door, it just opens, and then footsteps - not footsteps? Hooves cross the wooden floor behind him, and thin arms wrap around his waist from behind. 

 

“Adam,” says the small creature attaching herself to him, “Kerah says you’ve forgotten.” 

 

This is probably Opal. He has no idea who Kerah was. Why did he know so many people? He looks down at the child? Faun? 

 

“I have,” he says. “Do you have any suggestions?” 

 

“Pick me up,” she says. 

 

He does. Her hooves scrabble at the chair, and then at his legs, and then she’s situated in his lap, resting her head against his chest. It’s very odd. 

 

“I don’t like you forgetting me,” she says, “so remember me.” 

 

“I’ll do my best,” Adam says, “I don’t know how yet. I’m asking how.” 

 

“Ask Kerah,” Opal suggests. 

 

“And,” Adam sighs, “who is Kerah?” 

Opal gives him a look. The look says, I know you’ve forgotten everything, but how did you forget  _ that _ ? 

 

“Kerah,” Opal says slowly, “is Ronan. Duh.” 

 

Huh. 

 

“And you love Ronan,” Opal tells him sternly, “you’re not allowed to forget that either.” 

 

“I didn’t forget that,” Adam says, truthful, “I know I love him. I didn’t stop. Don’t worry.” 

 

“Ok,” Opal says, suddenly sounds a lot more cheerful, “good. I have things to do. You do too. Bye.” 

 

She slithers off of his lap even before she’s finished speaking, and clatters her way back to the door. Adam watches, which is why he sees Ronan outside the door when she leaves. Ronan sees him seeing him. 

 

“Are you coming in?” Adam asks, because he sees no point in not. 

 

Ronan comes in. He crosses the room to Adam. Sits on the edge of the desk. Looks at Adam. 

 

“You love me?” He asks, which, isn’t a surprise because Adam had figured he must have been there when Adam had been saying this stupid thing to Opal and her worried face. 

 

“I wish I didn’t,” Adam says to the desk. Ronan doesn’t say anything. Adam attempt to clarify. “Not because -” he stumbles, refuses to look at Ronan, “ - not because I don’t uh - like you or whatever. But because I don’t  _ know _ you. It’s bad enough knowing that you all know me and I know none of you without having this stupid feeling sitting in me constantly.” 

 

“Stupid feeling?” Ronan nudges, as if it needed to be explained. 

 

“Wanting you around,” Adam bites out before he can stop himself. Apparently his mouth is also used to doing things his brain doesn’t think he should. “Wanting you to touch me. But - no - don’t actually touch me because I don’t know you,” he adds quickly as Ronan lifts his hand out of his lap to reach for Adam. Ronan’s hand snaps back. Adam presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “That’s what I mean about not wanting to feel that,” he says into the heavy silence between them. “Because I want it and I don’t want it and both sides hurt the both of us so. It’d be easier if I’d just forgotten that I love you along with everything else.” 

 

“I don’t agree,” Ronan says. 

 

“You don’t have to agree,” Adam snaps, drags his hands away from his eyes, looks up angrily at Ronan, “You don’t -” 

 

Ronan is crying. Or, well, he has tears running down his face. He stares back defiantly at Adam’s shock. 

 

“Maybe it isn’t fair,” Ronan tells him, “that you have to - to  _ feel _ shit when you don’t know what you’re feeling shit about but you’ve - but we made a commitment to each other. To fucking love each other. And be there for each other. So I’m  _ sorry _ if it’s weird for you but it’s - it’s such a fucking relief to hear that even now you still love me.” 

 

Adam has to think about this. Ronan doesn’t give him a chance yet. 

 

“Because I love you,” Ronan continues, his voice maybe getting a little raw. His eyes haven’t stopped leaking. “I know it’s gotta be fucking scary for you having lost your memories, but I’m fucking sitting here feeling like I’ve lost you. What if you never got your memories back and never fell in love with me again? I wouldn’t blame you. I’m an asshole. So it’s -” 

 

“Ok,” Adam bites out. He needs Ronan to be quiet so he can sort his thoughts. Or try to. His inbox and trash idea wasn’t working very well. He reaches out to wrap his hand around Ronan’s calf, his mouth moves without permission, “ok. Shut up. I do love you, so shut up. Just - I need to be. I need to be quiet.” 

 

It takes a full minute of thinking about how tense Ronan feels under Adam’s hand for him to realise he’s holding onto Ronan’s leg. He doesn’t let go. He hasn’t sorted the boxes out yet, but, well. They were together, right? They both loved each other apparently. So. It didn’t make any sense for him to pretend even to himself that touching Ronan didn’t help. Even though. He had just told Ronan not to touch  _ him _ . God. He was the asshole. 

 

He wondered how much he was supposed to listen to Opal’s advice. She obviously wasn’t just a - a child. She was a dream creature. 

 

“Ronan,” he says, feels Ronan’s calf muscle flex, “what do I do?” 

 

“The cards aren’t helping?” Ronan asks. He waves a hand at the untidy stack beside him. 

 

“No,” Adam says, “I - I don’t think I have the right question. Maybe. Or the right - I don’t know.” 

 

“Did Blue help?” Ronan asks. 

 

“Yes,” Adam sighs, “it didn’t help. Being extra focused doesn’t help when the answer is the wrong one. Did they say anything downstairs? About what we should do next?” 

 

“Yes,” Ronan says, “but it’s just - Blue says we should give it some time. Wait it out like Maura suggested. Gansey just wants to read a fuck load of books because he thinks all answers can be found in old books.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says. 

 

“So,” Ronan says, “it might help if you just - God. I don’t know. Blue said you should try and stick to as much of your normal routine as you can. Like that could help jog your memory.”

 

“I don’t know what my routine here is,” Adam points out. 

 

“I do, though,” Ronan replies, scoffs a little, “it involves way too much homework. Nerd.” 

 

“That does sound like me,” Adam admits, “fine. I’m - I’m done with asking cards questions they don’t wanna answer anyway. And I do have an assignment to finish.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan sighs, “ok. So. Routine. You should have a shower.” 

 

“Oi,” Adam says, “are you saying I stink?” 

 

Ronan snorts, “I might be,” he teases, then, “you always feel off kilter if you don’t shower in the morning. Unless we’re camping or shit. You like to start your days off fresh. So. Have a shower, it might help.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. He kind of appreciates being told what to do right now. He lets go of Ronan’s leg, stands up. 

 

“And you should eat,” Ronan adds, hopping off of the desk. “You’ve only had coffee and muffins. I’ll go make some lunch. Come downstairs when you’re finished showering. We’ll sort out the game plan then,” he walks as he talks, stops at the doorway. “Your drawers are the one on the right,” he says, “but you’re welcome to any of my clothes from the other drawers. They’re all mixed together anyway.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. Ronan starts to leave. “Hey,” he says, Ronan pauses, “hey,” he repeats, “I’m sorry.” 

 

Ronan shakes his head. His face is too complicated for Adam to be able to read right now, but he’s not crying anymore. “It’s not your fault,” he says, “if it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine. Go shower.” 

 

Ronan goes. Adam has this stupid impulse to jog after him and ask him to shower with him so they can stay close and maybe showering together would trigger some memories? Or something else? God. He’s a fucking idiot. Anyway. He’d  _ seen _ the pictures of Ronan on his phone, none of those nudes had re-jogged his memory, so. 

 

He goes to shower, relying on his body to grab his towel, to understand how the wacky shower works, to reach blindly for the shampoo. He gets out. He turns the shower off. He tries to turn the shower off. The taps on the sink are on full blast as well. He tries to turn them off. He gives up. He’ll ask Ronan to turn them off when he goes downstairs. He leaves the shower and taps running, trying very hard not to think about how much water he was wasting. From the looks of this house Ronan at least was rich enough. Still. He gets dressed. He doesn’t quite recognise the clothes in the drawers, but they look like his, they feel like his, they smell like his. Except for the ones that don’t. The ones that smell like Ronan. Like the shirt he had been wearing until now. He goes downstairs, following the scent of tomato soup and grilled cheese. 

 

“Hey,” he says to the kitchen at large. Gansey and Blue are still at the table, huddled together. Ronan is at the stove, stirring a large pot. “I can’t turn the water off,” he says to Ronan. 

 

“What?” Gansey asks, “Is something wrong with the plumbing?” 

 

“With his plumbing,” Ronan says from the stove, “look after the soup, Parrish, I’ll deal with it.” 

 

Adam goes to the stove, Ronan leaves the kitchen. Adam stirs. Blue speaks. 

 

“Is it Cabeswater?” Blue asks, “Is it trying to talk to you through the water?” 

 

“I think so,” Adam sighs, “but I can’t figure out what it’s trying to say. I think it’s just saying what the cards are. Which is what we already know. That something’s wrong.” 

 

“Hm,” Gansey says, “maybe it’s a Ley line issue?” 

 

“This happened overnight, though,” Blue says, “Ronan told me there was no slow loss of memories, it was all there and then all gone. That doesn’t sound like a normal line issue. Unless something drastic happened on a line.” 

 

“Would it help to go to Cabeswater, maybe?” Gansey asks, “Ask it in purpose? Ronan’s got its physical form pretty well together now, right?” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, “I’m really the wrong person to ask that.” 

 

“Oh, right,” Gansey says, “sorry. I think Ronan has Cabeswater stable enough to visit. That’s what he was talking about on the phone last week.” 

 

“Well,” Adam mumbles to the soup, “that’s probably where all my memories are, yeah, so. Probably it is a good idea to visit it.” 

 

“Well,” Blue chips in, “it does feel like the obvious solution, but mum was a bit worried that going there would cause like - uh - you know when you get the microphone too close to the speaker? Really loud feedback? It could maybe work to get your memories back but it might not and it would almost certainly be detrimental.” 

 

“So,” Adam sighs, “not the easy way out then.” 

 

“No,” Blue agrees, “sorry, Adam. It should be a - a last resort. I think.” 

 

Adam very almost opens his mouth to say, ‘Or I could just go back to my life without my memories rather than risking fucking things up more?’ But the image of Ronan’s tear stricken face kept his mouth shut. The idea of a friend like Gansey so loving he could say the words kept the words down. The thought of meeting someone as determined and far-thinking as Blue kept the idea unfeasible. 

 

“Ok,” he says. “So. I’m supposed to follow my daily routine, then? See if that helps click me back into place?” 

 

“Yes,” Gansey says, “the theory is that if your body continues on as usual, because as we’ve witnessed and as Ronan has told us, your body appears to remember certain things such as - such as bathroom placements, etc, that tells us that the memories cannot be truly gone. So. Right, yes, we theorise that if you conduct yourself as per usual, not giving your brain and body together ample enough time to realise the disconnect, there is a chance that it will smooth over and continue as usual. There are some very interesting studies on muscle memory in relation to amnesia and -” 

 

“But,” Ronan interrupts, sweeping back into the room, “they aren’t in Adam’s usual routine so we’ll leave them out.” 

 

Gansey pouts a little. “Keeping routine doesn’t mean you can’t introduce new talking topics, Ronan,” he starts, “it means -” 

 

“He’s kind of right though,” Blue says, a little bit of tease in her voice, “you wouldn’t want to mess with the science, Gansey, not when you don’t have even have a control group to check variables on.”

 

“He’s not a science experiment!” Ronan snaps, cutting straight through Gansey’s response. 

 

“Um,” Adam says before anyone else can respond, “is something burning?” 

 

The grilled cheese was on the verge of burning. Ronan rescues them. Adam turns the soup off. Gansey quietly apologises to Adam, tells him he doesn’t think of him as an experiment. Adam waves away the apology. Ronan sits next to him at the table and Adam automatically scoots his chair closer and puts his hand on Ronan’s knee and then realises what he’s done and freezes with grilled cheese in his mouth. 

 

His options are these; a. Remove his hand and pretend like it hadn’t made him feel better and that he hadn't known that doing it would make Ronan feel better. Or, b. Keep his hand there because it made him feel better and he knew it made Ronan feel better because Ronan had just told him that he loved him and that they were committed to each other and that he was scared of losing Adam and. 

 

He keeps his hand on Ronan’s knee. Large parts of his brain are trying to string together a nice little explanation to Ronan about how just because Adam ‘loved’ him like some muscle memory thing didn’t mean that Adam right now actually loved him, but. It was very hard to actually want to string together something like that when he so keenly felt just how much he fucking loved Ronan. It was ridiculous. He hated it. And loved it. And couldn’t think of a suitable comparison to how it felt because he hadn’t felt it before? 

 

Opal joins them for lunch, but she scrapes all the cheese off of her grilled cheese, re-spreads it on some large chunks of bark, and then dips it in the tomato soup to eat. It’s very loudly crunchy. No one else appears to think that this is even slightly odd, so Adam doesn’t ask. 

 

After lunch is apparently when he argues with Ronan about who does the dishes. He isn’t even being contentious. This is simply what Ronan tells him. 

 

“So,” Ronan says, “this is where you go do your fucking homework, but first we have a quick fight about who’s gonna do the dishes.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says, “why?” 

 

“Fun,” Ronan says, “tradition.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says, “ok. I’ll do the dishes.” 

 

“God,” Ronan says, “you already know your lines. No. You’ve got homework, shit head.” 

 

Huh. 

 

“Yeah,” he says, “but I bet that if I don’t do the dishes you’re just gonna leave them on the table.” 

 

“Probably,” Ronan agrees immediately, “but if you spend the five or ten minutes it takes to do the dishes not doing your homework, you get all squinty and grumpy for a good half hour later this afternoon, so no. You’re not doing the dishes.” 

 

This was beyond weird. 

 

“Ok,” he says, “this is what’s gonna happen. Either I’m going to do the dishes and you can deal with me being even squintier and grumpier later, or, you can do the dishes because the dishes are going to be done whether you like it or not.” 

 

Ronan throws his hands up in the air, obviously for dramatic effect rather than due to any actual high emotions, except, perhaps amusement, “You’re such a pissbaby!” He announces, “I’ll do the dishes!” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, frowns at Ronan, “do we do that daily?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, standing up to start gathering dishes. 

 

“Sometimes you throw spoons or bread at each other,” Blue says from the otherside of the table, tapping on her phone, “and you don’t appreciate when anyone else offers to do the dishes instead.” 

 

“Like I said,” Ronan says, “tradition. Go do your homework.” 

 

“Um,” Adam says, “ok. Cool.” 

 

Ronan leans in, kisses him on the cheek, then recoils in abrupt horror at what he had done. Adam pretends like his heart hadn’t tried to escape out of his nostrils in happiness. 

 

“It’s fine,” he tells Ronan, “routine, right?” 

 

“Right,” Ronan says, turning away from Adam with the stack of bowls in hand, “routine.” 

 

Adam goes upstairs. 

 

He sits at the desk with his carefully tidied stacks of assignment. There’s a laptop too, which he assumes is his although he doesn’t quite know how. He opens it. It’s locked. He closes his eyes and hopes and types. He types - thisisjusttokeepopaloff . It lets him in. 

There’s already a few pages open, none of which he remembers opening, which makes sense seeing as he doesn’t even remember the fucking laptop. The first one is just youtube, paused on a music video. He presses play, because he might as well. 

The second is his emails and he has a few new ones so he checks them and replies to them because they’re all easy things that he can do because they’re about university and not about his life and how he can’t remember the man he apparently loves so much he stages a fake fight every lunchtime just to see Ronan fake pissy. 

The music in the background is nice, but he doesn’t recognise it, so he assumes it must have been Ronan’s pick. He closes his emails. 

The next tab is his assignment, which he recognises easily. Stupid. It’s almost finished, he just needs to check over the references and footnotes. Easy. Boring. He does so. He checks the time. He doesn’t know how long he usually spends up here, but he guesses that Ronan would probably come get him when he was supposed to be doing something else. So. He double checks the assignment, checks over the instructions on the university stream, and then submits it. Hopes that if/when he gets his memory back he won’t remember something vital he was supposed to do. 

The last tab is. The last tab is a jewellery website. Open on rings. Specifically on one ring. Was this meant to be a - ? Was this meant to be a secret from Ronan? Was it for a proposal? Was it just a ring for a rings sake? If it was meant to be a surprise, he couldn’t just ask Ronan. Like, ‘hey, were we planning on getting married? I saw I had a jewellery site open? Oh? You didn’t know? Uh, sorry me with memory I guess?’ No. Stupid. He bookmarks the tab, just in case it would be important, closes it. He has a calendar app on his laptop, which he apparently  _ knows _ is connected to the one on his phone. He checks it.  He doesn’t have anything scheduled for today. He’s meant to call his therapist tomorrow though. He doesn’t remember any therapist, which isn’t helpful, and is also kind of weird, because, well. He had only forgotten things to do with - things like Ronan. Not his uni life. He doesn’t know what he’s even going to say when he calls them though. “Oh hi! Funny story! I’ve lost my memory! Can you tell me everything I’ve ever told you about a guy called Ronan? Oh? Did I tell you I was going to propose to him? Hahahahahahah’. 

 

Fuck. 

 

He feels like he’s going crazy. Or. That he’s already gone crazy. 

 

“Stop working,” Ronan says from behind him. 

 

“Already stopped,” Adam replies. The only tab left open is youtube, playing weirdly melancholy music at him. “I finished the assignment.” 

 

“Oh yeah,” Ronan says, “you just had to go over references and shit, yeah?” 

 

“‘Just’ is not how I’d put it,” Adam sighs, “but yeah.” 

 

“Nerd,” Ronan tells him, “come on. We’re going for a jog.” 

 

“What?” Adam snorts, “Is that part of the routine?” 

 

“The routine for now is we do what the fuck we want and jogging helps you destress. Come on. Get out of your jeans.” 

 

It was true that jogging helped him destress. He stands up. Ronan goes over to his dresser, starts rifling through it, dropping shit on the floor. 

 

“Are we jogging together?” Adam asks. 

 

“Yup,” Ronan says. 

 

“What about Blue and Gansey?” Adam asks, goes to his own dresser, lets his hands pull open the drawer they want to grab his shorts. 

 

“They’re reading books and asking the internet questions about what to do. They’ve instructed that I just. Just do shit with you. Routine shit. So. Jogging.” 

 

“Are the dishes done?” Adam asks, because he feels like he’s supposed to. He unbuttons his jeans. 

 

“The dishes are done,” Ronan says flatly, drops his own pants and steps into his shorts.


	3. Chapter 3

Jogging does help. It clears Adam’s head, and shakes the lingering fear out of his lungs, and leaves behind a large chunk of his anxiety. It doesn’t give him back his memories. When they stop, they’re not back at the house yet, though they’re not too far off, but Ronan doesn’t say anything to him. They’re on the edge of a field in which Adam can see a few cows grazing in the long grass, and Ronan hoists himself over the fence before even turning to look at Adam who had come to a stop a few feet from the fence. 

 

“Come say hi to the cows,” Ronan tells him, doesn’t wait for Adam to answer, turns back around and starts trudging through the grass. 

 

Adam climbs over the fence after him, follows, half jogging until he’s a step behind Ronan, and then falling in behind. The cows come to them before they’ve walked very far, and Adam thinks that he has never been this close to a cow before and he’s not sure he wants to be this close to a cow but he all feels like probably what he’s thinking is false and that he probably knows these cows so he lets his body hold his hand out and his palm immediately gets licked. It’s very wet. Kind of gross. He doesn’t find that he cares. 

 

“That’s Clefairy,” Ronan tells him, “you’re her favourite.” 

 

Clefairy is also telling Adam that he’s her favourite by rubbing her head firmly up against him. 

 

The jogging had helped in settling him, but weirdly, standing in a field surrounded by overly affectionate cows was calming him considerably more. He hadn’t even noticed how stressed he still was until he was suddenly not feeling that stress anymore. His body was just going though the motions of  _ petting a very happy cow _ and his brain was perfectly happy to just enjoy it. Even the being licked part. He thinks that perhaps a part of it is because. Well. Because apparently he was used to being touched or something when he has the right memories, and liked being touched, and the fact that he was not letting his body do as it liked in regards to that. Well. Possibly it was taking what it could get from hugging a cow. Stupid. 

 

“We should go back soon,” Ronan says, a short time later, or maybe a long time later, “Gans will start worrying if we’re gone too long.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, closes his eyes, leans his head further against Clefairy’s neck. She doesn’t smell amazing, but he doesn’t want to pull away. “What’s next on the routine?” 

 

“Probably another shower, honestly,” Ronan says, “and you’ve been teaching Opal how to read in the evenings. You don’t have to, but she’d like that.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says again, then, “she comes from your head?” 

 

“Uh,” Ronan says, “yeah.” 

 

“I feel like I should be more curious about the dreaming thing,” Adam mumbles against the cow, “but I also feel like I already understand it.” 

 

“Do you think,” Ronan asks, quiet, slow, “that you’re remembering things?” 

 

Adam considers this for a while before answering, because he might have spent every moment of today trying to figure out if he was regaining memories he wasn’t aware he had lost, but it didn’t hurt to triple check. He keeps his eyes closed because he can feel Ronan looking at him and he doesn’t want to see if Ronan’s face is broadcasting emotions at him. 

 

“No,” Adam says eventually, “I don’t think I’ve remembered anything new since this morning.” 

 

Ronan doesn’t reply. Adam keeps his eyes shut. Ronan doesn’t say anything. Adam opens his eyes. Ronan is staring out across the fields, face blank, arms folded, leaning against another cow. Some of the cows had wandered off after saying hello, but a few, like Clefairy and the one letting Ronan use her as a prop, were hanging around enjoying the company and stroking. 

 

“Do you even want to remember?” Ronan asks suddenly, still staring off at nothing, “Or because you don’t remember, you don’t think it’s important to?” 

 

“Fuck you,” Adam replies, suddenly as angry as he had been calm moments before, “fuck you.” He pauses here, trying to figure out what he’s even supposed to say in response to this, then shakes his head, pats Clefairy one more time, and heads back towards the fence he’d jumped to get in here. 

 

He gets halfway to the fence by the time Ronan catches up to him, and he pauses, but Ronan doesn’t say anything, so he keeps walking with Ronan just behind him. They climb over the fence and they start walking back towards the house, and then, with the house in view, just down a small hill, Ronan touches the back of Adam’s arm and speaks. 

 

“It was a genuine question. I’m sorry. I know you’re trying as hard as the rest of us to make this better. I know it’s not a switch you can just turn on to remember all this shit. I got - yeah.” 

 

“You’re such an asshole,” Adam says without turning around. He stares at the dirt beneath him instead. “I’ve told you that I don’t remember but I do still have fucking - fucking feelings about all this stuff I don’t remember. You really think I wouldn’t want to try and connect them? That I could just leave these feelings behind without answers?” 

 

“The Adam I know wouldn’t,” Ronan says. 

 

“Am I not the Adam you know, then?”  Adam asks, suddenly heartbroken at the idea of not being that Adam. 

 

The Adam who had all this love. What if he wasn’t actually that Adam? What if this wasn’t just a case of memory loss? What if it was something else? Like he’d fallen into a parallel universe? And the Adam from here had woken up all alone in a university dorm instead and - 

 

“You are the Adam I know,” Ronan sighs. He’s still touching the back of Adam’s arm. Not holding, just touching, fingers scalding hot against Adam’s wind cold skin. “I know you are. You move like you, react like you, touch like you. You’re just you with - with - on low battery. Something isn’t functioning right. And it’s my fault. And that’s why I - fuck. That’s why I was such an asshole about it. I guess.” 

 

Adam very much wants to get to touch Ronan like he apparently usually gets to touch Ronan. But. That wouldn’t be fair to Ronan - being touched by someone who didn’t know him properly - and it wouldn’t be fair to Adam. He turns around instead so he can face Ronan, watches as Ronan’s arm goes back to his side. 

 

“Maybe,” Adam says, eyes on Ronan’s hand, coiled up in a fist, “maybe if we want to follow routine we need to - to follow routine. We’d usually be… holding hands while walking alone, wouldn’t we?” 

 

“You said not to touch you,” Ronan replies. 

 

“I know,” Adam says, slow, “I know. But I - I keep touching you anyway. Without even noticing. So maybe. Maybe that would help?” 

 

Ronan doesn’t look entirely convinced. In fact, he just looks more worried. 

 

“We don’t have to,” Adam says, “I just - we don’t have to.” 

 

“I don’t want to push something and have you - have you freak out,” Ronan tells him, “that’d be unhelpful.” 

 

“We could try, though?” Adam says, “Carefully?” 

 

Ronan doesn’t reply, so Adam reaches out slowly until his hand knocks against Ronan’s. When Ronan doesn’t pull away or say anything, Adam hooks his fingers around Ronan’s knuckles. He knows better to expect a sudden miraculous slew of returning memories, but he’s still a little disappointed. 

 

-

 

Back inside, Gansey is pacing back and forth in the kitchen. Blue isn’t anywhere to be seen, but they can hear her voice coming from somewhere in the house. She sounds like she’s on the phone. Opal is sitting cross legged on the kitchen table chewing a pen, blue ink staining her mouth. 

 

“Gansey!” Ronan groans, stomping across the kitchen past Gansey’s pacing, “I’ve told you not to let her eat pens! She looks like she’s part smurf for days!” 

 

He reaches Opal and tugs the pen out of her mouth. She hisses at him but doesn’t fight it. 

 

“Oh,” Gansey says, “sorry. I didn’t notice. I was - thinking.” 

 

“Did you think of anything?” Adam asks, watching as Ronan swings Opal off of the table, attempts to put her down, and then resigns himself to having a child(?) hanging around his neck. 

 

“Nothing we haven’t already thought about,” Gansey admits, sighs heavily, swings around to stare at the stack of books he’d materialised earlier that day on the table, “everything we think we should or could try really requires waiting out a full day to see if the memories come back naturally.” 

 

“Boring,” Ronan grunts. He’s at the sink now, Opal still hanging off of him, grabbing a glass of water. 

 

“Hopefully,” Gansey says to Adam, ignoring Ronan, “tomorrow we can look at things again and try something new.  _ Hopefully _ we won’t have to, though. My mother always says a good sleep can fix most things.” 

 

“Your mother,” Ronan says around gulps of water, “was talking about eye bags and bad tempers.” 

 

“Still,” Gansey sighs, “how are you feeling, Adam?” 

 

“Weird,” Adam admits, “it’s like I can - I’m more aware of how much I’ve forgotten now. It feels like a physical - a physical lack of something. Earlier today I felt - well. Not fine, but. Not like I was missing a whole chunk of my brain.” 

 

Ronan is suddenly at his side, holding a glass of water out to him, Opal also holding herself out to him. Adam takes both, drinks the water, hefts Opal up on his hip. She was both heavier and lighter than he had expected. 

 

“Hey Lynch!” Blue yells from her undetermined location. 

 

“Maggot?” Ronan yells back. 

 

Gansey winces slightly at the noise, Adam doesn’t because Ronan is on his deaf side. 

 

Blue appears in the kitchen doorway, phone pinned to her ear, “Did you use words in whatever fuckery you did with Cabeswater last night or was it just a general feeling that it misunderstood?” 

 

“Um,” Ronan says, groans, takes Adam’s empty glass back, “I didn’t  _ say _ shit to it. It was a dream, not a purposeful dream.” 

 

“I know,” she says, “you’ve already explained that.” 

 

“So you already have your fucking answer,” Ronan snaps. 

 

“Just think about it again,” Blue retorts, “it won’t hurt, you loser.” 

 

Ronan stalks over to the kitchen sink, dumps the glass, and then turns to lean against the counter, arms crossed. “I was dreaming,” he grumbles, “like I said. It was just a normal person dream or whatever, and then it wasn’t. Cabeswater was like, bugging me. Because it wasn’t fully formed, I guess. I don’t know! I was asleep. I remember thinking it should take it up with Adam because Adam’s better at dealing with a shitty Cabeswater than me. But I already told y’all that. It’s not like I said something like, ‘take Adam’s memories to make yourself stronger’, or something, come on.” 

 

“What was your normal person dream about?” Gansey asks. Blue makes a noise of agreement. 

 

Ronan scowls. “That’s not important,” he says. 

 

Blue scowls back at him, “It is important,” she says, “come on. Or I’ll put you on the phone with Calla.” 

 

“I was dreaming about Adam,” Ronan grunts, “but not in a weird magic way.” 

 

“Just in a weird sex way?” Blue suggests. 

 

Ronan pulls the finger at her. Adam focuses very hard on the opposite wall. Opal is tugging her off puttingly sticky fingers through his hair. 

 

“Were you mad at Adam in the dream?” Gansey asks then. This conversation is extremely uncomfortable to be witnessing. 

 

“No,” Ronan snaps. He looks as uncomfortable as Adam feels. “Fuck off, guys. Shit. If the normal dream was connected at all it’s only because it was about Adam and Cabeswater is weird about Adam. I already know this is my fault, you don’t need to fucking - to fucking rub it in or whatever.” 

 

“Lynch,” Blue groans, “we’re not trying to  _ rub it in _ , we’re just trying to figure out exactly what happened.” 

 

“Well I’ve told you all the shit,” Ronan says, “and now I’m gonna fucking shower.” 

 

“Ronan,” Gansey says. 

 

Ronan leaves the kitchen. 

 

Gansey starts to move after him, and then pauses, looks at Adam. Blue is also looking at him, mouth pursed. 

 

“I’ll go after him,” she says, “I’ll just say bye to mum and then -” 

 

“Nah,” Adam says, “I’ll go.” He makes to put Opal down. Opal does not make to be put down. Her hooves dig in to his hips. “Hey,” he says to her, “hop down.” 

 

“No,” she says, “you forget about me when you don’t see me. I stay.” 

 

“I don’t,” Adam says, “I promise. You can ask Ronan. He knows I didn’t forget about you while we were out.” 

 

“You do,” Opal says, “I stay.” 

 

Adam considers continuing this argument. Perhaps it was another argument tradition in this house. He spends a few seconds looking at Opal’s stern strange face, and then decides against it. 

 

-

 

From the sound of water running, it appears that Ronan had gone upstairs to shower. Adam climbs the stairs slowly, Opal clinging to him as tightly as if she expected him to change his mind and put her down on the steps. He’s not sure if he’s planning on knocking on the bathroom door and interrupting Ronan’s shower, or if he’s planning on just waiting for Ronan to come out. He’s not even sure what he’s doing up here. 

 

Ronan is standing in the bathroom doorway, arms crossed, staring inside the room. He doesn’t turn to look as Adam walks down the hallway towards him. 

 

“Think it’s trying to tell us something?” Ronan says as Adam draws even with the doorway. 

 

The bathroom doorway has a little ledge to stop water from leaking out into the hallway. Adam knows this because his feet had been very aware about stepping over it last time he had come in. The ledge was only barely keeping the water inside, and certainly wouldn’t for much longer if Ronan didn’t step inside and turn off the sink, shower head, and bath faucets. 

 

“Huh,” Adam says. 

 

Opal laughs in his ear. “Errat!” she declares. 

 

She’s certainly right that it’s a mistake. 

 

“Are you going to turn them off?” Adam asks, and Ronan shrugs. 

 

“Is there any point?” he asks, which is a stupid question. “That’s not fixing it, is it? We’re not asking any of the right questions are we?” 

 

“Well,” Adam grumbles, releasing Opal who was struggling to get down. “What are the right questions? Why is this only happening in the bathrooms? What are we supposed to understand about things being flooded?” 

 

“I am also kind of curious about why it’s only happening in the bathrooms,” Ronan says, “but I think it’s less location and more who is in the location.” 

 

“Makes sense,” Adam says, because it does make a weird sort of sense. Opal has splashed into the room, pushing past Ronan’s legs. She’s heading straight for the bath. “Is she just mucking about or is she telling us something?” 

 

“It’s very hard to tell with her,” Ronan says, but follows her into the bathroom, sneakers squelching in the water. 

 

Adam kicks off his sneakers and peels his socks off before stepping in. He closes the door behind him in an effort to keep the water inside, seeing as it looked like Ronan wasn’t about to turn the taps off. 

 

“Think it’s a metaphor?” Adam asks, watches as Opal climbs right into the overflowing bathtub, “like it’s - its Cabeswater being like, ‘hey we turned your memory tap on and then couldn’t turn it off. Our bad’?”

“I’m not sure whether your humour is better or worse without memories,” Ronan says. He’s bending over to unlace his now sopping shoes, “think you can scry in here?” 

 

“What?” Adam asks. He had heard Ronan just fine, understood him just fine, still felt like he needed clarification. 

 

“Obviously we’re being given a message,” Ronan says, stepping into the tub next to Opal who’s sticking her finger in the small whirlpool above the drain that is not draining fast enough to help at all. “So we may as well try and ask what it is. I’ll ground you while you scry, Opal can lead you.” 

 

“And we’re doing this in the bath?” Adam asks. Again, he doesn’t need clarification, it’s obvious, but he wants it anyway, even as he’s already stepping over to the bath. 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “looks like it.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. 

 

He pauses a moment to appreciate just how clean the bathroom was - no hairballs or toilet paper scraps or tiny flecks of soap floating on the lake bathroom floor. Maybe it was a dream thing. Ronan didn’t strike him as particularly clean. There is a plastic duck floating by the door. Ronan has sat down in the bath, water splooshing out over the sides, displaced by his long legs and causing waves around Adam’s ankles. He briefly wonders if the ceiling downstairs would start leaking, and then he steps  into the bath and sits down as well, knees bumping into Ronan’s, toes catching on the hem of Ronan’s shorts. Opal is standing up, caught between his and Ronan’s legs.

 

“Put your hand on the hole,” she tells Adam. Adam looks at her a little blankly and she splashes water in his face. “To stop the water from leaving,” she says, “hold it in with your hand.” 

 

Adam shifts his weight, water cascades onto the floor, Ronan snorts. He presses the heel of his hand in against the drain, feels it suction against his skin. 

 

“You trying to drown us, brat?” Ronan asks Opal. She splashes him now. 

 

“Dumb,” she says to him. He shrugs. 

 

“Um,” Adam says, “the pressure on my hand is a good focusing point. Along with all the water.” 

 

“Right,” Ronan says, knocks his knees against Adam’s, “you’re - you know what to do, then?” 

 

“I mean,” Adam snorts, “not at all. Fuck. I have no clue. But yeah? I guess?” 

 

“Good enough,” Ronan says, reaches through the water, around Opal, to wrap his hands around Adam’s calves. “I’ll pull you out if you’re gone for too long or if the water gets too high.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. Very much hopes he’s not going to make a fool of himself by not actually managing to scry because he was pretty sure he could but also? He might not be able to? “I’m going to try now.” 

 

Ronan doesn’t answer, just squeezes his legs. Adam focuses on the pressure on his legs, on his palm, on the water around them. It was too see through, but it worked. Somehow. He doesn’t close his eyes but it feels like he’s closed his eyes because he’s suddenly surrounded by darkness. He can still feel the pressure surrounding him, grounding him, but he’s not wet anymore. He’s not sitting in the bath.  He’s sitting under a tree on a moss covered rock. Opal is still standing between his knees though. She pokes him hard in the chest. 

 

“Ow,” he says, though it didn’t actually hurt. “This is Cabeswater,’ he says. She looks at him as if to say, ‘duh’. “I don’t have my memories back,” he adds. She repeats the look. 

 

He stands up, using the tree to brace himself, and looks around. It looks how he expects it to look, but also not. There’s a whispering through the trees, or possibly just a rustle of the leaves. He wonders, probably a little too late, if scrying into Cabeswater would be as bad as Blue said going to physical Cabeswater would be. 

 

“So,” he says to Opal. She’s skittered off a few trees away, picking at bark. “What now?” 

 

“Find where you left your memories,” she says, as if it’s obvious. Maybe it would be obvious if he had memories. He doesn’t say this. “You put them here.” 

 

“I put them here?” Adam repeats, follows after Opal. “How?” 

 

“Mistake,” Opal says simply, “errat. Oops!” 

 

“Oops?” Adam asks. 

 

“Overflow,” Opal adds, shrugs, trots off. 

 

Opal is not being as helpful as she appears to think she is. 

 

This is what he thinks until he walks straight into what appears to be a discarded t-shirt slung over a low hanging tree branch. He plucks the shirt from the branch and remembers taking it off, except he hadn’t taken it off in real life he’d taken it off in someplace like this and he’d left it there because he was doing something he didn’t need a shirt for. Holding onto it is like revisiting a memory that he hadn’t thought about for a while, you had to dig to figure out what happened next. 

 

“Opal?” Adam calls, she’s somewhere amongst the trees, “Am I going to find a whole outfit full of my memories in here?” 

 

She doesn’t reply except in a laugh, so he keeps walking, eyes peeled for another piece of clothing. Instead he finds a stand-alone sink pretending to be a tree, its porcelain mottled like bark. The taps are on, the sink is overflowing. When he steps up to it he sees movement under the water and looks closer. It’s him and Ronan in the bed he had woken up in that morning. Asleep. The duvet is covered in leaves, nudging at Ronan’s shoulders, nudging at Adam’s shoulders. Then the sink suddenly empties, pouring down the drain, the pipe suddenly appearing unmoored, pouring dry leaves out onto Adam’s bare feet. 

 

He keeps walking. He can hear what sounds like rain in the distance. Walks towards it. He trips over a pair of gumboots before he finds any rain. They’re his gumboots, so he puts them on, and when he does he remembers his dream from last night. The dream which, in the middle of, he was pretty sure had been a perfectly normal dream until Cabeswater had interrupted. He had not, in the moment Cabeswater interrupted, become aware that actually it had not been a perfectly normal dream. He only realises this now, with his feet damp in the gumboots, because he had been too distracted at the moment in the dream when Cabeswater had been attempting to impart some important information. 

 

So. 

 

The sound of rain is closer now. He’s struck with the inexplicable knowledge that if he can just stand under the downpour he’ll have the last of the puzzle pieces. A deluge of memory. That’s all he needs to do. He starts walking towards the sound, but his feet are starting to get wet inside the gumboots and each step is uncomfortably squishy and slow. Opal appears from behind a tree in front of him. 

 

“You’re walking too far,” she tells him, “Kerah’s arms aren’t that long.” 

 

“Just a bit further,” Adam tells her. He holds his hand out and she takes it. “I’m almost done. I promise.” 

 

“Almost done,” she says, “but you still don’t know me.” 

 

“I know you,” he says, which is only a half lie, because he feels like he knows her even if he doesn’t have the memories yet to back it up. 

 

“I know what truth sounds like,” she tells him. 

 

“Look,” Adam says, points with his free hand, “there’s the rain. I just need to get under the rain.” 

 

Opal looks at the rain. Then she looks at Adam. Then she shakes her head. 

 

“No,” she says, “no. That is not the right answer.” 

 

“No?” he asks. 

 

He doesn’t hear her answer because he very suddenly cannot breathe. As if he’s been dunked underwater. His eyes close automatically, his hand tightens around Opal’s hand, and when he opens his eyes he is still not breathing. 

 

Ronan is crouching in between his knees, hands cupping Adam’s face. 

 

“Shit, Adam,” he hisses, “you’re back. Breathe, ok? Breathe.” 

 

Adam exhales first because he feels like maybe there is water in his lungs. There isn’t, so he inhales. Opal is standing outside of the bath, dripping water from her clothes into the water lapping up her furry legs. 

 

“Why’d you bring me back?” Adam asks, aware, as he slurs his words, that that was probably answer enough. 

 

“You were gone too long,” Ronan grunts, he hasn’t let go of Adam’s face, “and then you stopped fucking breathing, man. What was I supposed to do? Just let you chill out in your scry scape not breathing?” 

 

Adam shakes his head. 

 

“So?” Ronan asks, “Was it worth it at all?” 

 

“I don’t have my memories back,” Adam says, continues on before Ronan can get out more than three swears, “but,” he says, “but I have - I remember last night now.” 

 

“Last night?” Ronan asks, frowning. 

 

“Last night,” Adam confirms, “your dream.” Ronan keeps on frowning. Adam keeps on trying to explain. “The one I was in,” Adam says, “I was in it too.” 

 

“The fuck,” Ronan says, “I know you were.” 

 

“No,” Adam says, “I was  _ in it _ . Me. I was dreaming in the same dream.” 

 

“The fuck?” Ronan repeats. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “that’s exactly what Cabeswater was trying to say. Well. No. It was trying to say it wasn’t strong enough for us to do weird dream shit like that but we were - we were busy doing… weird dream shit and - I think - I think I must have told it to just take what it needed or something and it did, but because it was such a - an unusual situation, it didn’t now what it needed to take and it took - too much? I don’t know. I don’t have the memories to say, yet.” 

 

“What the fucking shit,” Ronan expounds, “are you serious?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “pretty sure I’m serious. Does it make sense at all?” 

 

“As much sense as the rest of our lives,” Ronan grunts, “so? How do we get your memories back?” 

 

“I don’t know that part,” Adam admits. 

 

Gansey knocks on the door. 

 

“Guys?” he calls, “Guys? The ceiling is dripping? What’s going on -?” 

  
  


-

 

What happens next is basically a lot of Blue being pissed off that Ronan and Adam did what Ronan and Adam always did apparently and just jumped into a possibly dangerous situation without telling anyone else because they’re a headstrong idiotic unit, and Gansey being a little bit more quietly pissed off about it, and Ronan finally turning all the taps off, and Opal hugging Blue and getting her soaking as well, and then everyone turning to the task of mopping up the bathroom and the hallway beneath the bathroom, and then drying themselves. 

 

Then it’s dinner time. Dinner is chinese takeout that Gansey orders in while Adam and Ronan take actual showers (not together), and they eat it in the lounge while they discuss what happens next. 

 

“So explain it again?” Gansey asks through a mouthful of dumpling, “you think what happened last night was you and Ronan accidentally - what? Dreamed together? And that threw Cabeswater off kilter?” 

 

“Basically,” Adam says, fumbles a little with the flimsy chopsticks, and then just stabs the chunk of tofu escaping his feeble chopstick skills, “and when it tried to - tried to inform us what we were doing was odd and also draining for it, we didn’t notice, or listen I guess because we thought we were just asleep.” 

 

“So,” Ronan says, “seeing as I was thinking it should just ask Adam, and Adam was telling it to piss off and he’d deal with it later, we  _ think _ it took that as permission to take what it needed but it - it overshot. It took too much. Obviously - the water and shit - obviously it realised pretty quick but. Yeah. That’s as far as we’ve got.” 

 

“Right,” Gansey sighs. 

 

“You seriously didn’t realise you were freaking dreaming into each other’s dreams?” Blue scoffs, “Also, don’t you two get in on enough in waking hours? You have to bend weird magic rules to get some extra in while you’re asleep?” 

 

Adam can’t answer this. Ronan answers it with a scowl. The both of them are blushing. 

 

“Sorry,” Blue adds, “I know you’re currently unaware of this, Adam,” she says, reaching up from her position cross legged on the floor, “but I’ve walked in on you two in compromising positions way too often.” 

 

“Anyway,” Gansey says loudly, “where does that leave us? Your dangerous scrying into Cabeswater got you your memories of last night back, but nothing else, and Opal was - is - convinced that was you thought would get the rest of your memories back would be even more dangerous. Possibly fatal.” 

 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Ronan grumbles. 

 

“He could have died!” Gansey snaps, “Maybe you too! And we wouldn’t have known until we noticed the dripping!” 

 

“Sorry,” Adam says, nudges Ronan with his foot. 

 

“Sorry,” Ronan agrees, sounding actually sorry rather than just forced into apology. 

 

“Ok,” Blue says, “so I think we should try another reading. Full circle assistance. All of us acting as grounding and amplifying forces for you. Now you have some answers it might be easier to get the next set.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam agrees. 

 

“We’re gonna finish dinner first though, right?” Ronan asks. 

 

They finish dinner first, then, while Ronan and Blue clear away the empty containers, Adam goes upstairs to fetch the cards. Gansey trails after him. 

 

“Do you want something, Gansey?” Adam asks, when it becomes all too obvious that Gansey definitely wants something. He’s followed Adam the entire way up the stairs, down the hallway, into the bedroom, is hovering behind Adam as he shuffles the cards into their velvet bag. 

 

Gansey shifts uncomfortably, then nods. Adam waits. 

 

“You asked earlier how likely I thought it was you’d get your memories back,” Gansey says, “I think it’s more likely now that you will, but I’m still - I’m still concerned - if you don’t get your memory back, what’s your plan?” 

 

“It’s not even been a day,” Adam replies, pulls the drawstring on the bag, “why would I have a plan?” 

 

“You always have a plan,” Gansey says, “for everything. You wouldn’t not have a plan just because you lost your memories. Are you planning on leaving?” 

 

Adam exhales, rubs his thumb against the wood of the desk, and then turns to fully face Gansey. 

 

“I was,” he admits, “for like five minutes this morning. But I - I know I can’t. Even if I felt like I could get over the academic curiousity of what the hell happened, I know that I couldn’t - I can’t - I’ve lost all these important memories but I didn’t lose any of the feelings. None of them. I trust all of you and I can’t explain it. I want to be close to all of you and I can’t explain it. I pick Opal up out of instinct. I’m constantly finding myself moving to touch Ronan. To be near him. I don’t - Gansey I don’t  _ have  _ that in any of my memories. It’s only you guys. How could I leave that?” 

 

Gansey looks like he might possibly cry. He doesn’t, he steps forwards instead, slowly, giving Adam ample time to react, and then hugs him. 

 

“So?” Gansey asks, arms still around Adam’s shoulders, “What is your plan?” 

 

Adam sighs, loops his arms around Gansey’s waist because he might as fucking well. “If we truly can’t fix this? If nothing can be done? Then I guess - God. I guess make new memories. Learn all the history I forgot. Find the old and new reasons for why I can say with complete certainty that I love of all you. For why I can just say that. With my mouth.” 

 

Gansey snorts, squeezes Adam a little tighter. “Ok,” he says, “we’ll all help with that, you know. It’ll be hard - I think especially for Ronan - but we’ll all help.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “enough of this. Let’s go downstairs and focus on the better outcome.” 

 

-

 

This time the reading goes a bit better. Whether because Adam does have more understanding of what the hell was going on, or whether it was because he had Blue amplifying him on one side and Ronan grounding him on the other, hands on his knees, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter. 

 

The cards repeated their earlier statements about there being a mistake, a fault, a glitch, and then they go on to suggest a re-do. A replica to put the memories back. 

 

“So,” Gansey says, “you have to dream into each other’s dreams again?” 

 

“They have to have another mutual sex dream,” Blue clarifies. 

 

Ronan reaches over Adam’s lap to smack Blue’s arm lightly. 

 

“I don’t know how we did it last night,” Ronan says once Blue’s finished snickering and Gansey’s finished rolling his eyes, “so I don’t know how we’ll do it again tonight.” 

 

“Mum would suggest taking some inner eye opening tea,” Blue says, “and not thinking about it too hard.” 

 

“Of course Maura would suggest tea,” Ronan grumbles, “I swear they don’t actually work, she just likes making people drink ditch water.” 

 

“If she was here you wouldn’t say that,” Blue says calmly, “you’d be too scared she’d make you drink ‘regretting saying dumb stuff’ tea.” 

 

“True,” Ronan says. 

 

“I like the tea,” Opal offers from underneath the couch. 

 

-

 

So. Blue and Adam make some truly horrifying tea. Ronan and Adam drink the horrifying tea. Opal also does. Gansey and Blue make up the bed in the bedroom down the hallway from Ronan’s room while Ronan and Adam brush their teeth in an effort to bring their mouths back to functioning order. Everyone goes to bed. 

 

-

 

“Is this going to be weird for you?” Ronan asks after Adam’s already climbed into the bed next to him. 

 

“Sleeping with you?” Adam asks, “Dude. This is probably going to be the least weird thing that’s happened to me all day.” 

 

Ronan shrugs, punches his pillow, slumps down under the blankets, says; “Adam.” 

 

When Ronan doesn’t follow this up with anything, Adam rolls onto his side to face Ronan, blinks at him. “Yeah?” he asks. 

 

Ronan shrugs again, lifts himself up on one elbow to reach over and turn out the bedside lamp. 

 

“Ronan?” Adam asks, “What?” 

 

“There’s something I want to tell you,” Ronan grumbles into his pillow, “in case we can’t do this - but - it’s not - there’s no point in telling you this particular thing unless you remember it yourself. Otherwise it doesn’t mean anything.” 

 

They let these words sit on the mattress between them for a long moment, and then Adam sighs. “Ok,” he says, “I’ll try to remember it then.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan replies, rolls over, offering his back to Adam. 

 

Adam watches his back through the dark for a few minutes and then buckles under the overwhelming pressure being put on him by his entire body. “Can I spoon you?” he asks, “Or will you knife me if I try?” 

 

Ronan doesn’t reply verbally. He just reaches backwards, flails around, grabs Adam’s arm, and drags it over his waist. Adam takes this as a yes. 

 

-

 

The first thing Adam thinks is that he is honestly too tired to be awake in his dreams. The second thing Adam thinks is; what the fucking hell I actually did it. Ronan looks to be in the same boat. Or at the very least, in the same dream. He’s looking around them, at the vine shrouded room, the leaf covered bed, as if he’s expecting something to leap out at them. 

 

“We don’t have to - uh - replicate last night’s dream to get Cabeswater to… interact, right?” 

 

Adam snorts, “Hopefully not,” he says. 

 

“Oi,” Ronan says, mock offense loud in his voice. 

 

Then they’re interrupted. 

 

“Paenitet,” says the vines, “paenitet, paenitet, paenitet,” the leaves repeat, “paenitet,” says the air around them. 

 

“Um,” Adam says. 

 

“Sorry,” Ronan translates. 

 

“I know,” Adam replies, “I took Latin in school too, asshole.” 

 

Ronan looks at him. “Was that something you knew,” he asks slowly, “or was that something you remembered?” 

 

Adam looks back at him, brow furrowed, because, well. It’s very difficult to parse what the fuck you knew and what you remembered and what maybe you still didn’t know when things you knew felt like you’d known them forever once you remembered them. 

 

The leaves says; “You are dreaming together.” Or. They don’t say anything, they just imply it somehow in the way they rustle against each other. Possibly they add that they’re not strong enough for a dreamer to hold a magician in a dream. Possibly they simply shift in non-existant wind. 

 

“I’ll look at the ley lines soon,” Adam tells the room, the dream, “I’ll check the cracks and fill them in. Not with memories. Not with me.” 

 

“Thank Mary,” Ronan hisses from beside Ronan, “shitting fuck. Thank Christ. Shit. Adam -” 

 

“Not in a dream,” Adam tells Ronan. The vines agree. 

 

-

 

When Adam wakes up, not very long after he fell asleep, and very much not well rested, Ronan’s eyes are already open. Open and waiting. 

 

“Hey,” Adam mumbles, his mouth unfairly dry for someone who had probably only been asleep for half an hour at most, “we’re engaged.” 

 

“Fuck,” Ronan groans, eyes closing, “thank fuck that wasn’t just a dream.” 

 

“Me proposing or our fun meet up with Cabeswater?” Adam asks, rolling over to close the small gap between their bodies, wrapping his arms around Ronan as Ronan wraps his arms around him. 

 

“Both,” Ronan says, muffling himself as he buries his face in the crook of Adam’s shoulder, “fuck. Fuck. I was so scared I was going to lose you.” 

 

“I wasn’t going to leave,” Adam replies, as calmly as he can, which is not very calmly seeing as he was attempting to configure his entire fucking brain. “I couldn’t. I love you. Remember?” His neck, where Ronan is squished up against it, is getting wet. “Even losing my memories momentarily couldn’t shut that off.” 

 

“You’ve really got them all back?” Ronan asks against his skin, “It really worked?” 

 

“We’re the dreamer and the magician,” Adam replies quietly, “it worked. Yes. I do. God. What bad timing, huh?” 

 

“Shit,” Ronan groans, grips onto Adam tighter, “fuck, anytime would have been bad timing but - God. Of course it had to happen right after we got fucking engaged.” 

 

“And no one else knew,” Adam sighs, “and I didn’t even have a ring for you so - you would have kept it a secret, wouldn’t you? You weren’t going to say anything about it if I didn’t get my memories back?” 

 

“I didn’t want you to feel stuck here with me,” Ronan mumbles, “like you had to follow through on a promise you didn’t even remember making.” 

 

“Fair enough,” Adam says, “but shit. Babe. I’m sorry.” 

 

“Should we wait until morning to tell Gans and Blue?” Ronan asks. He’s still squished in tight, face hidden. 

 

“About my memories or the engagement?” Adam asks. 

 

“Both,” Ronan says. 

 

“Morning,” Adam decides, “I need to actually sleep. And kiss you.” 

 

“Fine with me,” Ronan says. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! If you like my writing feel free to come yell at me on my Tumblr etoilegarden.tumblr.com


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